


I Brought You Flowers

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leandra wants Hawke to date. She should've been more specific with her request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Brought You Flowers

His mother called it courting. They were proper Kirkwall nobles now, with an estate, a name, and money. As an 'eligible bachelor' he was expected to entertain available pretty young ladies and eventually marry. Never mind the fact that he didn't care for ladies, pretty or otherwise. Never mind the fact that he hated the idea of 'settling down' to start a family. Never mind the fact that since meeting a certain sexy blond apostate, he'd done nothing but lust after him.

"You need to date," his mother said.

So Hawke would date.

He showed up at Anders' clinic early in the morning, holding a bouquet of spindleweed and elfroot. It wasn't the prettiest arrangement but it was practical. Clearing his throat, annoyed with himself – he wasn't a blushing virgin after all – he stepped inside. The clinic was thankfully empty aside from the object of his affection, bent low over a desk, scribbling.

"Uh…" Hawke tried.

"One second, Hawke," Anders said distractedly. 

Hawke waited. Anders scratched a few more things onto the parchment before looking up. He glanced at the bunch of herbs and while he didn't smile, his eyes did light up.

"For me?"

"I… came to ask you for an evening out."

"Sure," Anders said, taking the proffered herbs.

Hawke realized the meaning behind them was lost when Anders laid them out over a table and began separating them, picking out useless weeds from the necessary parts.

"An errand? Or more watching your back as Isabela takes all your coin from cards?"

Hawke frowned. "No. To dinner."

"You're not cooking, are you?" Anders asked warily. "You may have a fancy kitchen, but I'm sorry Hawke, the last stew you made tasted like the Ferelden countryside after a heavy rain."

Maker, why couldn't he just kiss him and fuck him like his previous 'courtships'? But no, mother wanted it done properly and he would do it. If only to show her and the rest of Kirkwall that he refused to be party to their matchmaking schemes.

"To Chez d'Argent."

Anders looked up at him, eyebrow raised. "I… don't think so."

"Why not?"

"It's central Hightown for one," Anders said, looking back down at the herbs. "Not the safest place for an apostate. And for another…" He gestured around, then down at himself. "I think there's a dress code that I wouldn't quite meet."

"I have something that will fit you," Hawke said. "And you'll be with me. No one will be able to touch you."

"Hawke," Anders sighed. "I really can't afford it."

Hawke blinked. Oh. Maybe it was better to be abrupt, since it seemed Anders still wasn't getting it. "I want to take you on a date. To court you. My treat."

It was Anders' turn to look dumbstruck. "Court… me?" he laughed, confused.

"I brought flowers."

Anders looked at the herbs on his table, then back to Hawke, mouth slightly open.

"Say yes," Hawke said, hopefully.

Anders looked back down once more. "I… all right."

"Come by at six," Hawke said, "so you can get dressed first."

Anders nodded and Hawke leaned forward, kissing his cheek before leaving the clinic quickly. With any luck, the rest of the date would go more smoothly than that.

-

Anders sat nervously in the library, Hawke's mother across from him, lips in a very tight, very disapproving line.

"Lovely home," Anders tried.

His collar was a bit too tight, the scarlet silk shirt uncomfortable against his skin. He picked idly at his black vest, feeling silly. Orana – Hawke's servant – had helped him dress and assured him that this was the fashion. Leandra "hmm"ed and was about to say something when Hawke entered.

"Ready to go?"

Anders stood, looking over at him. He wore a long, knee-length black coat that flared slightly at the ends, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, buttons undone. Beneath that, a dark green shirt that matched his eyes. He looked extremely handsome, and not at all out of place despite his lack of armor. Anders nodded, glad to be leaving.

"Garrett," Leandra said, rising.

Hawke crossed the room to kiss her cheek, taking Anders' arm. "You wanted me to date, Mother. Don't wait up."

Anders allowed himself to be led from the room and out into the street, feeling slightly less awkward.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked. "You needed someone to appease your mother?" He wasn't sure if he should be hurt or not. His feelings for Hawke were complicated. The man was like no one else he'd ever met. Except perhaps Karl, and he buried those memories deep.

"Not entirely," Hawke said. He hadn't let go of Anders' arm. "Yes, she wants me to… find a suitable wife." He gritted his teeth as he said it. "But I never wanted that for myself. I figure this way she's happy I'm dating and I get to spend time with someone I'd rather spend time with."

"As a friend," Anders ventured.

Hawke stopped, pulling Anders to look at him. "No. I have every intention of courting you."

Anders let out a nervous laugh. "I… don't know what that means, Hawke. I grew up in the Circle. The only 'courting' we did was in the dark corners where the Templars couldn't see us."

Hawke leaned in and Anders' breath caught, eyes closing as Hawke kissed him chastely on the lips. It was over far too quickly and he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Courting you. Bringing you on proper dates. To restaurants and soirees and introducing you as my consort."

"Your consort?"

"Lover, if you prefer," Hawke said. "Though the connotations of that word might cause a scandal," he said, wagging his eyebrows so ridiculously that Anders had to grin. "Then again, that might just be what this place needs. Now, can we go to dinner? I'm starving."

Anders tentatively took his arm. "Yes, let's."

-

Dinner was horrible. Anders had never seen such expensive food served in such tiny portions. Where a few coppers in Lowtown could buy you a bowl of stew to fill your belly, four courses later he was still starving, and fairly sure Hawke had spent at least ten sovereigns. It was small change for him, of course, but Anders felt slightly guilty. Hawke for the most part, was doing his best to make him laugh, from making fun of the maître 'd's ridiculous (and likely fake) Orlesian accent, to wondering loudly if the woman at the next table's breasts had been enlarged by some potion or feat of magic.

They would have been kicked out too, if the name Hawke hadn't commanded such respect. At least the wine was good, and kept flowing, and the dessert was rich and sweet. Hawke plucked the strawberry from Anders' cake, and popped it in his mouth.

"Hey!" Anders protested. "You have your own."

"Come get it then," Hawke said, mouth around the strawberry.

Anders leaned in without hesitating, forgetting himself for the moment as he pulled Hawke close, kissing him deeply. This was no chaste kiss, and he might have been slightly tipsy to shed his inhibitions so willingly. But the taste of strawberry on Hawke's tongue was divine, and the kiss left both of them breathless and starry-eyed. The woman at the table next to them was staring.

Hawke turned to her. "I'm sorry," he said, "but he's spoken for. I'll thank you to stop ogling my lover."

It turns out he was right; the word was apparently rather scandalous. She turned red, sputtered, and shot a demanding look at her husband sitting across from her. He looked as if he was about to say something, but Hawke merely sat back, crossed his legs and unbuttoned his coat. There was a flash of a dagger, and the man thought better of it. Anders sipped his wine to hide a smirk. He felt… oddly powerful. A Ferelden refugee, a gutter trash apostate on the arm of the most eligible bachelor in Kirkwall, maybe in the Free Marches.

He knew it shouldn't matter. There were other things that were much more important. But for a night, he felt like royalty.

-

Hawke walked him home, not to the clinic, but back to his estate. They were recalling particularly amusing events in their past and were laughing and shushing one another as they entered the mansion. Hawke locked the door behind them, and pulled Anders close, kissing him again. Anders returned it, ignoring everything but the feel, the taste, the very essence of Hawke. He gripped his coat as Hawke's arms wrapped around his waist.

Candlelight from the balcony, a polite clearing of a throat. Hawke pulled away and Anders had to keep from whining. Leandra stood above them, looking down.

"Mother," Hawke acknowledged. "You didn't have to wait up for us."

"Courting, Garrett. No polite and proper young… man," she said, sounded defeated, "would go to bed on a first date."

Hawke inclined his head slightly. "I was going to walk Serah Anders to a guest room so he didn't have to make the long trip to his clinic."

Leandra frowned, then sighed. "Very well. I'll see you in the morning."

She left, taking the light with her, and Anders turned guiltily back to him.

"I should go back to my clinic," he said.

"Why?" Hawke asked, leaning in and kissing him again.

"Beacause – mm. Mm. Okay. Because I – Hawke, stop for – Wait."

Hawke was kissing his lips, his chin, along his jaw, rubbing his beard against his cheek, nipping his ear, and Anders forgot how to talk. He leaned against the door, sighing happily, eyes shut.

"So you'll stay in the guest room," Hawke said. "Good."

"All right. I'll-" He cut off with a yelp as Hawke bit his neck, then sucked hard, leaving a red mark.

"And tomorrow we'll go on another date," Hawke said, pulling away, taking his hands and tugging him into the main hall.

"Will it end like this one?" Anders asked, following.

Hawke stopped at a guest room door, opening it for him. "Maybe not exactly," he said, a feral gleam in his eye.

"But we don't want to disappoint your mother," Anders teased. He couldn't help but feel a bit of nervous excitement though.

"Mother," Hawke said, kissing him again, "can sod right off."

Anders faked a gasp. "Garrett Hawke. Do you kiss her with that sailor's mouth?"

Hawke grinned. "See you at breakfast." He took Anders' hand in his, bent low and kissed his knuckles before walking away.

Anders leaned against the doorframe, feeling lightheaded and dizzy, neither of which had anything to do with the wine he'd consumed. It was ridiculous, he thought, watching Hawke move out of sight. He slipped into the guest room and shut the door before undressing. He shouldn't have felt so happy. So complete. It wasn't an entirely new feeling, but it wasn't a wholly familiar one either. And as he settled down into a soft bed with clean sheets, he couldn't help but feel like perhaps maybe he'd earned a little happiness.

For now, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Silly French translation for the restaurant is loosely "House of Money." Pardon my unoriginality. :)


End file.
